


Divine Sunk Cost Fallacy

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Temporary Character Death, background clem/gucci and clem/emmaline, general spoilers for up to episode 38 of partizan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: It is not just the cats that roam Past that have nine lives - Perennial wants Clem alive.
Relationships: Clem/Perennial
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Divine Sunk Cost Fallacy

There’s a huge group waiting for her, as Past descends. Much more than the handful of people that she told Sovereign that there would be space for, although since they never settled on a specific number it’s difficult to tell if it’s a miscommunication or a genuine betrayal.

Considering Millennium Break’s feelings toward her, it’s most likely a betrayal of some kind, but this time it comes without the sting. Perennial has no issue with her collecting more people. It will probably be a little logistically difficult to get everybody comfortably housed on such short notice, but that part doesn’t particularly bother her. She has people to handle that kind of thing, and they've been doing an excellent job of it.

The people already housed in Past don't hate her, the way people used to. Perhaps once the others are on board these new people will change their minds too.

The refugees flood into the streets, towards the closest thing Past has to a town square. Clem greets newcomers there, sometimes, when Perennial prompts her. Emmaline gives repair orders from there. The Figure passes down her proclamations from there. Gur will no doubt give his sermons from there, when it is that they feel like making them again.

“You should greet them,” says Gur.

“I think they’d rather just get on board as fast as possible,” says Clem, “If you think we should have a welcoming ceremony, surely it would be better to wait until things have calmed?”

“I think they would rather know who’s ship they are seeking safe harbour with.”

Clem blinks, turning away from the window to look at them. “You don’t think they would know?”

“I think they would know this ship belongs to the Witch In Glass,”says Gur, “I don’t think they would know that the Witch In Glass is  _ you _ .”

“Does it really make a difference?” says Clem, “If they stay behind they’ll almost certainly be killed.”

“And there would be those who would prefer to take that chance,” says Gur, “If you do not, they will feel as though you have lied to them, and we’ll never hold on to the numbers we need. It would defeat the purpose of putting ourselves in this danger in the first place.”

Clem sighs. “I suppose.”

She’s glad that, by the time she makes it down to the small podium they’ve set up that the members of Millenium Break that are most familiar with her face are nowhere to be seen, too busy helping people climb on board Past or protect people from the debris that’s begun to rain down on the city. Even though they now know the identity of the Witch In Glass, they’d surely cause a fuss if they saw her speaking to their people.

Clem looks out on the sea of faces, some vaguely familiar from her time on Fort Icebreaker but most not, and spreads her arms in greeting. She barely gets the first sentence out before someone throws something - a loose pavestone collides with the wall beside her, startling her.

“I will not be ruled by Kesh again!” cries an unfamiliar voice.

Clem forces herself not to take a step back. “That’s not what I’m saying-”

The crowd rolls forward in a wave of angry faces, pushing past others who look as confused and surprised as Clem feels, shoving her off the speaking platform to the ground. Someone’s boot collides with her head and Clem is sent, very painfully, into unconsciousness. When she wakes, hours later, she is alone, slumped behind the speaking podium. Her clothes are  _ ruined  _ and her arm aches a little with the cold, but otherwise she feels fine. She touches her fingertips to the mask of sage over her eyes, feeling relief as it curls around her fingers. Perennial is still with her, as always.

She brushes herself off as best she can and heads back towards her rooms to change. She’s in charge of a great many people now, despite how little they seem to like it. It simply won’t do for her to be dressed in rags when she speaks to them next time.

Word trickles through the Millenium Break refugees slowly. Some only hear about the incident in passing and most of those who do brush her reappearance aside - she can’t have been so badly injured if people saw her walking around, after all. There are some, though, those who were close to the front, who whisper that she was surely dead after it, her face smashed to pieces and made whole again by the divine power of Perennial.

Clem doesn't know any of this. Aside from having a minor argument with Gur over it, she lets it slip from her mind, forgotten. She has much more important things to do than to dwell on things like that.

Gucci Garantine has come on board.

Clem prepares to meet her in the throne room. Sitting on the throne feels too casual, but standing feels too formal. She settles for leaning, very casually, against the windowsill, looking out over the city. The wind ruffles her sage mask, tickling her nose.

There's a quiet knock at the door.

Clem clears her throat, quietly. "Enter."

Gucci slowly opens the door, barely hesitating before she steps forward into the throne room. Clem traces the shape of her out of the corner of her eye - the crisp line of Gucci's suit jacket, the polished handle of her walking cane, her hair unruffled by the wind.

Clem turns slowly, to keep herself steady. "Gucci."

Gucci opens her mouth, then closes it again. Clem is  _ fascinated. _ Never in her life has she seen Gucci so lost for words. 

"Clementine," she says at last, pausing another moment before she speaks again. "You- we held a very large funeral on your behalf, you know. You could have told someone that you didn't require one."

"It's not as though it was pointless, I  _ was  _ murdered," says Clem.

Gucci pauses, her expression unreadable. "And now you're back."

"Yes," says Clem, slipping into a childish, teasing tone without really meaning to, "Did you miss me?" 

Gucci's expression flickers again, impossible to read unless you had spent a lifetime memorising every detail of her face, every shift in expression. Clem’s breath catches in her throat.

"Oh," says Clem.

Gucci's expression shutters and Clem feels something clawing at her throat - say something, please, Perennial, help her to say  _ something- _

"Perennial," says Clem.

"What?" Says Gucci.

"I- Perennial brought me back," says Clem.

"I know," says Gucci, "I… I suppose part of my reason for visiting is to see to what end your resurrection has been for."

Clem shrugs. "The wheel turns, I suppose."

Gucci blinks at her, then huffs a laugh. " _ The wheel turns _ ? Really?"

Clem smiles, glad to have chased away the darker expression from Gucci's face at least for the moment.

"Well," says Clem, "it's a little- if she has a plan that's not for me to know, is it?"

Gucci huffs another laugh, stepping closer to stand beside Clem at the window. They both look out together, over the city. Far below them, people scurry back and forth, as small as beetles. They city is much more lively, now that there are more lives aboard.

"They think you have some devious secret plan, you know," says Gucci.

"Perhaps I do," says Clem.

Gucci's lips curve into a smile. "So what is it?"

"Well if I told you it wouldn't be a devious secret, would it?"

Gucci looks at her for a moment before her serious expression breaks and she laughs, loud and bright, the laugh of their school days. Clem feels the old thrill of it, of capturing Gucci's attention.

"I knew you didn't have a plan," says Gucci, "you never do."

"Sometimes I do," protests Clem, "I just like to leave room for spontaneity."

Gucci huffs a laugh, nudging Clem's shoulder with her own. "I suppose that's why she chose you, always living in the present."

Clem swallows. "Oh- perhaps. Perhaps."

They stand together for a while, their shoulders nearly touching as they chat about nothing in particular. The weather. Gucci's new tailor. When Clem next expects to be back in the area that Gucci will most likely be in.

The warmth from her skin lingers on Clem's skin, even after Gucci leaves, returning to Horizon. Clem taps her fingertips against the windowsill and, with great effort, pulls her attention back to her own people. She’ll see Gucci again, when the wheel turns that way.

She’s had a little practise in running Past now, enough for people to know when to come to her, and enough for her to know when  _ she _ needs to go to other people. Gur is always somewhere around, dispensing guidance and commiserating with her over Perennial’s latest opaque instructions, but for most practical things she still prefers to see Emmaline.

“We’re not so strained that we need to be worried,” says Emmaline, her voice bouncing off the thin pipes that line the corridor she’s currently trying to fix. “I mean, we’ve got a lot of people with a lot of skills on board now, so that’ll help.”

“Only if they decide they want to,” says Clem, “I believe many of them have made their feelings clear on the matter.”

Emmaline shoots her a look. “Yeah, I heard about that. Glad you’re-  _ are _ you alright?”

“I’m fine,” says Clem quickly, “I- when you say we’ve got people with skills on board, how do you know that?”

Emmaline shrugs, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and leaving a streak of grit in its place. “I talked to them.”

Clem frowns. “It’s hardly practical for me to talk to every person who’s come on board.”

“Probably not,” says Emmaline, “but if one of people’s main complaints is about you locking yourself away and ignoring the work-”

Clem lets out an indignant sound. “I am  _ not _ !”

“-then maybe you should find someone who’s working on something and offer to help,” finishes Emmaline.

“I am providing shelter,” says Clem, “I would think that I’m already helping them tremendously.”

“I guess,” says Emmaline, “But- people like to see more than that.”

She pushes some hair back from her face, adding to the grit on her forehead. Clem sighs, pulling out a small handkerchief and holding it out to her. Emmaline makes a face, and Clem sighs again, long-suffering.

“You’ve got- here-”

She wipes Emmaline’s forehead clean and then, since she doesn’t really know what to do with it, hands the handkerchief to Emmaline. Their fingers tangle together, briefly, as they sometimes do since they came to Past. Clem's not really sure what to make of it, other than that she doesn't mind when it happens. It’s still so odd, to have someone who touches her so readily and casually.

“Thank you,” says Emmaline.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” says Clem.

She thinks over Emmaline’s words as she heads towards the library of Past. There’s always people in there searching for something, which seems like a much easier project for her to help on than trying to develop a weapon that can defeat Law or distributing sleeping bags through the city.

Sovereign is close to the entrance, hunched over one of the computer screens, absorbed in whatever he’s reading. Clem hesitates before she continues on. No project or mission she has ever embarked on with Sovereign has ever been simple, nor has it ever brought her the love of the people. Besides, the others of Millenium Break seem to be avoiding him of late. Better to choose someone to help who holds a little more favour with people.

Thisbe is even easier to spot than Sovereign, towering over the library shelves, the table in front of her piled high with record files and star charts. Every few moments her movements still, accompanied by her fans whirring in overdrive.

When they were on Fort Icebreaker together, Clem hardly ever saw her alone. Valence, she remembers, had valued Thisbe’s opinion. Millie, she thinks, had liked her.

Clem clears her throat. “Hello, I- it’s Thisbe, isn’t it?”

Thisbe looks up for a moment before her head tilts back down towards the star charts. “Yes.”

Clem clasps her hands behind her back. “Is this-” She peers at one of the star charts. “What are you tracking?”

“I am trying to find a planet that has been removed from all official maps,” says Thisbe. She pauses again before she adds, “Operant Immunity said he believed it to be in this area.”

“I see,” says Clem, “Did you… is this something you need help with?”

Thisbe looks up. “Do you know where the planet I am looking for is located?”

“I… could find out,” says Clem, “I’m sure someone on Past would be able to help you just as much as Sovereign’s memory.”

Thisbe considers her for a moment. “Why?”

Clem blinks. “Why what?”

“Why would you offer to help?” says Thisbe, “What would you want in return?”

"I- Thisbe, you have already been quite useful," says Clem.

Thisbe turns to look at Clem fully. Her expression, as always, is difficult to read.

"Thank you," she says, after a long moment.

"I didn't mean- I, myself, have been trying to be, or, Perennial has been trying to teach me, I think, to be useful. To help people, and you- you have certainly helped a great deal of people."

"Thank you," says Thisbe again. Her tone is different, but Clem has no idea whether that’s positive or not.

"What I mean is- I would be happy to offer you any help I could, in locating this planet. You have already done so much for us."

Thisbe tilts her head. “I have only done what has been asked of me.”

“But you’ve still  _ done _ it,” says Clem, “There are- many people who are asked who do not help.”

“Yes,” says Thisbe simply.

“Right,” says Clem, “right, well I- I’ll go see who would be best to help you.”

There actually are a few of them, explorers and old-timers, people who worked in transporting things through the galaxy before they got stuck on Partizan. She sends one of her advisors with them, to make sure they tell all the information to Thisbe directly. If Perennial wants her to help these people, she certainly doesn’t intend to mess it up by involving herself too directly, especially when she’s so busy. She scarcely has five minutes to herself in the throne room to try to speak to Gur in private, these days.

It is because she’s in the throne room that Sovereign is able to find her. He’s twitchy, in the way he’s been of late. It’s a look she remembers seeing often on some of her mother’s close advisors, people who’d spent their lives looking over their shoulders. Clem leans back against the windowsill, curling her fingers around the frame to steady herself.

“What are you doing with Thisbe?”

“Good afternoon to you too Sovereign,” says Clem, in as mild of a tone as she can manage.

Sovereign wrinkles his nose. She can tell she’s already under his skin. It’s easy to delight in it, since he’s spent as much time trying to get under her’s as he has looking down his nose at her for showing her annoyance.

“What are you doing with Thisbe?” he asks again, stepping closer to her.

“I’m not doing anything  _ with _ her,” says Clem, “I asked if she wanted assistance on looking for that planet of her’s, and she said she did, and so that’s just what I’m trying to do.”

“I was already helping her,” says Sovereign.

“Yes, she told me you’d passed along your old memories of the place,” says Clem, “That hardly helps her with coordinates though, does it?”

“It helps her more than you are,” says Sovereign, “lounging around up here.”

“Ah,” says Gur, from his position leaning against the wall, “That explains how people have come by that particular idea.”

“So it’s you that’s been spreading that particular rumor about me, is it?” says Clem, “Typical, anything I do it’s never enough for you-”

“ _Anything_ _you do_? You haven’t _done_ anything!” says Sovereign.

He steps forwards again, half a pace away from her and his voice growing louder. Clem’s fingers flex against the windowsill.

“I’ve taken two places which were said to be impossible to breach,” says Clem, “all you’ve done is slide to the bottom of the ladder. You talked such a big game about leadership and now look where you are.”

“Because of  _ Kesh _ ,” he spits.

It doesn’t make her bristle like it used to. She’s no longer Kesh, after all.

“You can choose to believe that,” says Clem.

“It’s the  _ truth _ !”

Clem regards him coolly. “People who spend their days searching for enemies around every corner often come to see just that.”

“I know when one’s right in front of me,” says Sovereign.

“What, exactly, have I done since my return that has caused you to think that?”

“You- it’s what you’re  _ planning _ to do,” says Sovereign.

“Oh?” says Clem, “I thought I was too much of a fool to form a decent plan? Surely if I have one you would see through it in an instant.”

Sovereign’s hands twitch at his sides. “You’re too much like your mother to not have a plan. You’re playing both sides of this.”

Clem sighs. “I am simply following Perennial’s guidance.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sovereign grits out.

“So?” says Clem. It’s a little childish of her, perhaps, but Sovereign often makes her feel that way. “What are  _ you  _ going to do about it?”

He steps forwards, and Clem puts her hands up to brace for the blow. Unfortunately, this means that she no longer has a grip on the window frame. 

Sovereign pushes her.

She only catches a glimpse of it as she falls but from the expression on his face, it’s harder than he meant to. She watches him grow smaller and smaller as she rushes towards the ground, and then she closes her eyes-

Clem sits up in bed, gasping for air as though the breath has been knocked out of her. Her hands shake as she pulls back her clothing to find- nothing. No blood, not even a faint trace of a mark. She fumbles for the datapad on her bedside table. It’s been less than an hour.

Her arm aches, a little. There’s nothing more than that.

“Oh,” says Clem. The sound trembles in the air. “That’s- I’m back. I- how am I… why did you…?”

The screen of the datapad turns to purple-tingled static, slowly clearing until she can see the text underneath.

_ You are Clementine _ .

Her eyes prickle. She lets the datapad fall to the bed beside her to cover her face, feeling the sage mask tickle her fingers. Tears gather in the leaves, making the flowers bloom in response.

Perennial wants her here.

Perennial  _ wants _ her here.

“I-” Clem swallows. “I am trying to be. I hope-”

Her voice breaks, and she covers her mouth with her hand, muffling a shaky breath. The smell of sage is thick in the air around her, and Clem raises her hand to the sage mask, feeling the proof of Perennial’s protection under her fingertips.

This particular incident isn’t added to the rumor mill. Sovereign Immunity keeps it close to his chest, half-planning his escape in case this is the thing that turns the tide against him. Even so, those who believe in such things say Perennial feels stronger that day, more present. They credit Clem for it, however loosely, as she was seen heading to the shrine for Perennial, her arms laden down with sage, a line of cats following behind her.

When she walks into the library of Past the next day to check how Thisbe’s doing, Sovereign drops the file he’s holding, pages scattering across the floor.

“Good morning,” says Clem, “I should say- if it bothers you so to see me help Thisbe, perhaps you should leave.”

“You-” says Sovereign, “but, I- I-”

Clem smiles. “And yet, here I am, right where I am meant to be.”

She gives him a curt nod and heads towards Thisbe, joy bubbling in her chest, the leaves of her sage mask curling with excitement.

She’s not really much of a help, exactly, but Thisbe has made some advancements since yesterday and Clem nods carefully through them, trying very hard to ask questions. It feels a lot like being in school, since at most she receives a cool nod from Thisbe, but the first star chart she looks at has the Perennial constellation mapped to it, and that feels like a sign.

The sees the constellation again, during battle. She’s in a borrowed mech, barely holding her own with the others as they pull off some plan by the skin of their teeth. Millie’s been sniping at her all day over the comms and Clem has been mostly successful in ignoring her, but then Sovereign joins in, taking Millie’s side of  _ course _ , and Clem can't help herself.

“That was the stupidest maneuver I’ve ever seen,” says Clem, “if your mech is having technical issues, you could have told me. I would have had one of my engineers look it over.”

“As if I’d trust one of your engineers,” snaps Sovereign.

“ _ Honestly _ ,” says Clem, “You could be using me as a much better resource than you do if you weren’t so absolutely-”

“Uh Clem,” says Millie, “you might want to think about getting out of the-”

A missile, flying off-course as Law tries to hit the Stray Dog collides with Clem’s borrowed mech, exploding on impact. Clem hardly feels a thing.

When she wakes up, she heads straight from the throne room to the conference room where Millenium Break have set up a lengthy meeting.

“They thought you were dead,” says Emmaline, hurrying to match pace with Clem.

“Understandable,” says Clem, “But, really, you’d think they would know better by now.”

She pushes open the doors, enjoying the shock that washes over their faces. There’s a moment of silence, and then everyone begins speaking at once.

"Yes, hello," says Clem, over the top of them, "Anyway, as I was saying-"

"I'm almost impressed," says Millie, "how, exactly, are you still alive?"

"I was resurrected, actually," says Clem, “it's Perennial’s will.  _ Anyway,  _ as I was  _ saying _ -"

“Oh, sure,” says Sovereign, “ _ Perennial’s _ will.”

“Well it’s hardly likely to be  _ your’s _ , is it?” snaps Clem.

Sovereign looks away, the colour draining from his face.

“So you did die,” says Millie, “again.”

“Yes,” says Clem, “It is as Perennial wishes. Just like I am sure she wishes you would actually  _ use _ the resources I am  _ trying _ to offer you instead of you creating an elaborate and frankly time-consuming and pointless plan to steal them from me.”

Sovereign snorts. “Sure.”

Millie and Kalar trade looks.

“I guess we’ve just been kind of waiting to see what strings are attached,” says Millie.

“I don’t know if there are,” says Clem, “I am simply following the guidance Perennial is giving me.”

“Right,” says Millie, “Well, I guess she did bring you back to life, so.”

“Seems like a waste,” mutters Broun.

Clem flinches. “Well, that’s your opinion.”

Broun looks up at her from where they’ve been staring down at the table. “That’s a lot of people’s opinions actually.”

“Well that hardly seems to matter,” says Clem, “As she seems inclined to keep doing it.”

“More than once?” says Phrygian.

Clem frowns. “What?”

“Has this happened more than once?” says Phrygian, slowly, “After the first time, I mean?”

Clem’s eyes flick to Sovereign, who has focussed his attention very steadfastly on the corner of the room.

“Yes,” says Clem, “Can we move on to the topic at hand? I assume you were in the process of trying to divide up Past, and while that will  _ not _ be happening, I assume you had a reason for it.”

The meeting goes about as poorly as it always does, helped on and hurt by Sovereign’s silence. It’s interesting, she thinks, that he tried to hide that he killed her. He hadn’t told anyone, as far as she could tell. Perhaps, if she were more her mother’s daughter, this would be more useful to her. As it is, thinking about it makes her feel vaguely nauseous, like she’s taken a step only to realise it’s ice underfoot.

Perennial returned her to life, and spoke to her, and so she tries to think of that instead.

Broun lingers, after the meeting. Their eyes flick to her and then away, their shoulder tense. Clem shuffles the note paper that’s been left discarded on the table. It’s something Gucci used to do, when Clem was trying to find the right turn of phrase to ask her a question.

“I just-” Broun says finally, “Why you?”

“That’s quite a broad question,” says Clem, “Why me what?”

Broun gives an annoyed sound. “Why bring  _ you _ back? I mean, of all the people- I mean, I guess there’s worse options, but there’s- better people have. Died. Died for  _ real _ , not whatever it is you’re doing, and I just-” They voice grows quieter. “They should be here, not you.”

Clem swallows, looking up. Past Broun, out of the window, she can see the glow of the Perennial Wave forming. A reminder, as if she needed one.

"I don't know," says Clem, "I don't know why she keeps bringing me back." She pauses, her eyes going towards the Perennial Wave again. “You’re quite right about- well. Public opinion. Perennial is, I think, the first person to… to want me to be with her instead of not.”

Something flickers over Broun’s expression - pain, and recognition - before they scowl again.

“Well, yeah, you’re kind of terrible to hang out with,” says Broun, “Do people not tell you that?”

“People feel annoyingly free to tell me just that,” says Clem. She pauses, running her nail along the ragged edge of one of the papers in her hands. “I can’t offer- I don’t really know how this works. It’s probably- normally when people get brought here they- it hasn’t been that long, since they died, so I don’t- It’s Perennial, really, who decides.”

“Whatever,” says Broun, “I don’t even have- You can’t help, so it’s- whatever.”

Clem presses her lips together. “I wish I-” She can feel the sage mask tremble against her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Broun shrugs, walking out of the room without another word, their expression tight. Clem closes her eyes, tilting her face to the ceiling and letting out a long breath.

The lights flicker, signally the closeness of the Perennial Wave.

Clem’s eyes snap open. Tendrils of fog curl towards her from the window. She follows, letting it lead her up the stairs, towards the throne room. It curls around her body like a living thing, guiding her to sit on the throne. She can feel energy pulsing through the Wave, crackling against her skin, leaving scorch marks on the throne. She drags her hand through it, watching the curl of the fog forming around her fingers.

Outside, the wind howls. Inside the throne room, the fog grows dense and heavy, a protective layer against the outside world, against the ravages of Perennial herself. Clem lets out a long breath and closes her eyes, feeling the leaves of the sage mask sway in the breeze.

She is where Perennial wants her to be. The Wave crashes against her tower, and it feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
